‘Till quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride; And sought a solitude forlorn, 135 In secret, where he died. ‘But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I’ll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. 140 ‘And there forlorn, despairing, hid, I’ll lay me down and die; ’Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.’ ‘Forbid it, heaven!’ the hermit cried, 145 And clasp’d her to his breast: The wondering fair one turn’d to chide, ’Twas Edwin’s self that prest. ‘Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see 150 Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restor’d to love and thee. ‘Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And ev’ry care resign; And shall we never, never part, 155 My life—my all that’s mine? ‘No, never from this hour to part, We’ll live and love so true; The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin’s too.’ 160 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wond’rous short, It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man, 5 Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, Whene’er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; 10 The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes. And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 15 And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad and bit the man. 20 Around from all the neighbouring streets The wond’ring neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man. The wound it seem’d both sore and sad 25 To every Christian eye; And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die. But soon a wonder came to light, That show’d the rogues they lied: 30 The man recover’d of the bite, The dog it was that died. SONG FROM ‘THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD’ WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away?